


The Death of the Gold Owl

by Minervas_Revenge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9497195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minervas_Revenge/pseuds/Minervas_Revenge
Summary: (Prompt:) Hermione is a poor student and as her studies make it impossible to work to supplement her living expenses, she seeks alternative employment as a high class call girl. She doesn't believe in love as Ron did something horrible to her, so she sees the call girl work as the most honest form of relationships, as there's no way to fall in love. However, her client has different ideas...





	

“We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

 

Hermione grimaced as she pulled her knickers up, but managed to summon a smile out of herself when she faced Harry.

 

“If friends do what we just did.” Hermione plucked her lacy bra from the back of a chair and snapped it on. Morning light fingered through the curtains but Hermione’s first class wasn’t until ten o’clock; she had plenty of time to get cleaned up and review her notes.

 

“Look, I know Ron turned out-“

 

“Don’t, Harry. It’s not your fault and I don’t want to talk about it.” Hermione quickly tugged on her robes and scooped up the waiting sack of Galleons. She had to get out of there before Harry started trying to ‘save her.’

 

“There have got to be other ways to pay for school, Hermione,” he said, as predicted.

 

Hermione knew precisely what emotions Harry was going through: affection and guilt. He’d enjoyed himself. So much, that he felt shame for it. It was flattering in a twisted way.

 

“I’m doing exactly as I please, Harry. I’m perfectly content. Besides, you do _not_ want me as a girlfriend. Owl me if you want a repeat,” she winked and Disapparated, leaving a gold owl feather on the bedside table.

 

"Doing this won't bring your parents back." Harry's voice carried after her, stirring unwanted feelings. Hermione's parents hadn't recovered from the memory charms she placed on them to hide them from Voldemort. In addition to coping with her loss, Ron turned out to be emotionally abusive to the point that Hermione refused to fall in love again.

 

Unbidden and unwanted, one of Hermione’s worst memories surfaced. She’d been setting the dinner table for Ron and two of his numerous Quidditch buddies when she heard him, the man she thought loved her, curse her for not using magic. He knew she’d vowed to use magic only for absolute necessities because of what happened to her parents! It was like being doused with ice water.

 

It was as if the comment carried magic itself, because Hermione was overpowered by the realization of how much she’d sacrificed for her relationship and how much she hated it. She hated Quidditch. She hated Ron’s Quidditch team, she hated Ron’s Quidditch friends and she hated her life revolving around all of them. She’d marched into the living room and leveled her wand at Ron. But, as happened most of the time when she held her wand, she filled with regret for her parents and was unable to cast a spell—even between the eyes of the red-headed wizard staring in open-mouthed shock at her. 

 

Hermione had left and never looked back. It took her a year to gather the forgotten pieces of herself and enroll in the university. She became friends with a former Ravenclaw that shared the benefits of being a call girl and the rest was history.

 

Hermione would make Harry wait a month before his next ‘repeat.' The bitter, childish thought blacked out those she didn’t want.  Regardless, melancholy sent her right home to the pile of inquiries waiting impatiently for her acknowledgement.

 

Crookshanks circled Hermione’s ankles as she leaned on the counter, flicking aside envelopes and scrolls with her fingertips for something that caught her eye. She could afford to be choosy. Her reputation was solid and well-deserved. Crookshanks stiffened and skittered away as letters smacked the floor. The mess was the only indication that someone occupied the flat. Hermione paid rent for the apartment but she did not live there. Her days were spent at the International University of Wizardry and her nights were spent in the beds of lucky wizards.

 

“Hello,” Hermione cooed as she spied gold-gilt parchment. She unrolled the scroll and frowned at the name scrawled boldly at the bottom of the letter.

 

Lucius Malfoy wanted to pay her for sex?

 

Hermione’s eyes moved over the confident strokes of the handwritten note, subconsciously sizing up the man that wielded the quill. She summoned bread and toasted it with lazy swipes of her wand, growing warmer herself, the longer she examined the letter. The older wizard had nerve attempting to contract her. Struck with a sudden thought, Hermione flipped over the parchment. Ah, that was it. He didn’t know her identity; the letter was address to her fictitious name, ‘The Gold Owl.’

 

Purring fur returned to circle Hermione’s ankles and she tapped the letter.

 

“What do you think, Crooks? Shall I give an old acquaintance the shock of his life?”

 

Hermione sent a reply before even eating her toast. She refused to spare a moment of thought as to why she was so intrigued.

 

~*~

 

“I beg your pardon,” Hermione said, nonplussed.

 

Lucius Malfoy had not been surprised by her identity. Neither did he want to see the emerald green lingerie she’d worn just for him.

 

“Have I not expressed myself well?” he drawled,

 

The wizard wore a dressing robe of black silk – he’d always looked fabulous in black – and stood, as casual as Hermione had ever seen him, in the middle of a dim parlor.

 

“Typically, more is expected of me for my fee,” Hermione replied coolly, delicately.

 

“Ah,” said Lucius. “Have I insulted you?”

 

Hermione laughed – his comment was so unexpected. She shook her head. “I’m here to serve you. If you want a massage, that’s what you will receive.”

 

Inside, Hermione was disappointed. She had been looking forward to sliding into Lucius’ bed. She had no doubt that he was a force to be reckoned with in it. As she set to work transfiguring the sofa into a suitable massage table, Hermione soon abandoned all emotion – she was at work. Only the desires of her clients mattered.

 

When Hermione beckoned the wizard to lie down on the table, he disrobed beside her without hesitation or shame and she was forced to reconcile with the idea that she would not get to enjoy the numerous delights of his body. Proportionately, he was magnificent. He was powerfully built and sprinkled with patches of soft, dark hair. The desire to run her fingers through the short curls on his abdomen made her hands fist.

 

Hermione realized that she was staring and found Lucius watching her.

 

“Please,” she gestured at the table and cast two spells on her hands while he made himself comfortable.

 

The groan Lucius gave when Hermione slid her magically warmed and oiled hands onto his shoulders was gratifying. If she didn't get to test the wizard's rumored stamina, she'd make him wish she would. Hermione kneaded and rubbed, using every texture of her fingers and hands to flick sensuality across his skin. He didn't make another sound but his breath came and went erratically.

 

After warming him with her touch, Hermione stripped off her robes and climbed onto the table to straddle his thighs.

 

"Too hard?" she asked, putting some of her weight into the massage.

 

"Not at all," he exhaled deeply.

 

Hermione smirked. Unless she was mistaken, she'd just made Lucius Malfoy purr like a cat. Almost thirty minutes passed as she worked on his back, neck and arms. If it weren't for the subtle (and telltale) shifts of his hips, Hermione would have thought Lucius asleep. When she climbed off of him, hot and inebriated with want, Hermione helped herself to a glass of cold water from the sweating pitcher nearby.

 

"Would you like me to do your front?" she asked suggestively after a leisurely sip.

 

Lucius took his time answering. He rolled onto his back, stretching lazily. He glanced at her with carnally-glowing eyes but looked away again.

 

"No, that will do," he said.

 

Suddenly, the water wasn't the only thing cooling Hermione’s heat. In silence, she pulled on her robes and donned her heels. By the time she was dressed, Lucius was as well, and he held a heavy pouch.

 

"Thank you," Hermione said, trying not to sound bitter as she accepted the coins.

 

Lucius' fingers caressed Hermione's wrist, effectively rooting her to the spot. Happy tingles shot up her arm.

 

"I place high value on emotionless touch," he said slowly. "Please consider returning."

 

Lucius lifted her hand and placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles that stole Hermione's breath.

 

"Thank you," was all Hermione could say. She left, completely bewildered.

 

~*~

 

It was two weeks before another gilt-edged scroll was delivered to Hermione's sterile flat. Since leaving Malfoy Manor, Hermione had been unnerved. She subconsciously shuffled and organized her belongings, trying to figure out why her visit to Lucius Malfoy was haunting her. She could only guess that the age-old cliché of a 'challenge' was teasing her.

 

And, when late one evening, two owls appeared bearing a hefty scroll, Hermione's curiosity and interest was even more roused.

 

_"My dear Ms. Owl,_

_The spell carried by this letter serves to bind you to silence for what I want of you, nothing more. That is to say, you will not be bound to carry-out my wishes unless you accept. By continuing reading, you agree to the terms of this enchantment."_

 

Hermione reread the contract and hesitated to read further. Lucius was an intelligent wizard to weave a silence spell into his request; no other had thought to do so. But then, most of her customers wanted only one thing. Apparently, that was not the case with Lucius Malfoy.

 

"I won't share your secret," Hermione muttered, too intrigued to worry overmuch about a spell of silence.

 

_"It is my wish to be fully cared for as if a sultan by a harem woman. I wish to be catered to, massaged and bathed without bothering with direction or the tax of holding a conversation. I feel you capable of such. If you accept, you will, of course, be well compensated._

  1. _Malfoy"_



 

Hermione fingered the scroll thoughtfully. His request was not so unusual. Many men wanted to be pampered. Lucius, it seemed, wanted it to the extreme. She noted that his request was devoid of sex and _that_ , ironically, caused her to hesitate. Hermione set the scroll aside and tried to select another from the pile that would satisfy her but found that no wizard appealed to her as much as Lucius.

 

Hermione cursed and left the pile of unanswered letters and turned to her studies. She'd figure it out later. Or simply close her eyes and answer the first letter her hand encountered. Or send Harry an owl and hope that Lucius found out - was there a wizard he hated more than Harry?

 

But that was ridiculous! Hermione was thinking like a scorned lover and she was most certainly not. She had no attachment to Lucius - or any other wizard, for that matter.

 

With a harrumph of triumph over her silly notion, Hermione cracked her textbooks and resolutely steeped herself in studying.

 

~*~

 

“I know what you’re thinking, but I won’t have to work for a year after tonight,” Hermione muttered at Crookshanks as she checked her hair in the mirror for the tenth time.

 

“You look lovely, dear,” chimed the mirror.

 

The part-Kneazle cat returned to bathing his paw. Hermione sighed at her reflection.

 

“I won’t have to work for a year,” she repeated. Despite that she had no guarantee for a mind-numbing physical interlude, Hermione was looking forward to her evening as she slid heavy robes over her silk undergarments and Disapparated.

 

A House-elf took Hermione’s cloak and guided her to a parlor. The House-elf didn’t so much as bat an eye at Hermione’s Muggle lingerie, leaving Hermione to wonder what else it may have witnessed as a resident of Malfoy Manor. The witch abandoned the thought as she stepped into the parlor. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the fire-lit room.

 

“Turn,” Lucius’ voice sounded from the shadows.

 

Hermione fell into the role of obedient servant and held her arms out at her sides as she slowly pivoted. A little thrum started beating in her veins.

 

Wordless magic shortened the hem of Hermione’s slip. Hermione couldn’t help the grin that quirked her lips as it skimmed up her thighs; Lucius was not so different from other men, at all.

 

“Start with the Evening Prophet,” Lucius drawled.

 

Hermione plucked up the newspaper from a sofa table and seated herself at the wizard’s feet to read it by the only light in the room. She read off the headlines and looked up at him, waiting to see if he wanted to hear one in particular.

 

“International news then obituaries,” he said softly, mostly-hidden by darkness.

 

Hermione couldn’t help but grin. Obituaries? She turned to the International pages and began to read, cushioned comfortably by the thick rug. The only thing Lucius did while she read was sip from a tumbler – an aged scotch by its woody scent. It took about an hour to get through the sections Lucius wanted to hear and Hermione had grown drowsy. Every flicker and crackle of the fire was hypnotic. 

 

Feeling relaxed, Hermione leaned against Lucius’ chair. She studied his slippers and slacks and gave-in to the temptation to touch the soft-looking material. His slacks were a buttery knit but Hermione was distracted by his warm skin. His leg tensed as she slid her fingers up his calf. Heat pooled in Hermione’s gut even though she knew the wizard didn’t want intercourse. Maybe he’d allow her to suck him off. Even as the happy thought shot a picture of Lucius fisting her hair in pleasure through her mind, Lucius tapped her shoulder and gestured for her to move aside.

 

“I’d like a bath,” he said, rising from the chair.

 

Hermione slowly got to her feet and followed. Lucius led her down a lamp-lit corridor and up a narrow, winding stairwell. The bathroom was enormous, of course. A House-elf must have preceded them because steam wafted from a bath of bubbles and thick candles guttered as Lucius passed them.

 

As the wizard toed off his slippers, Hermione crossed the expansive marble floor and wordlessly began working the buttons down his shirt. She popped them one at a time, stealing deft caresses of his flesh with her fingertips. When she reached the waist of his slacks, she dropped to her knees, relishing his audible draw of breath. She took her time unbuttoning and unzipping.

 

Her hands were gently brushed aside when he stood in only tight boxers. Lucius pushed them down, himself. Hermione, for some strange reason, blushed to see that he hung swelling with need. He stepped around her and climbed into the deep tub before she got to her feet. Buzzing with desire, Hermione couldn’t seem to move quickly. She took blinking stock of the room, unsurprised that a place was ready for her beside the clawed bathtub. There was a short stool and a small table that held potions, sponges and combs. At least she’d get to drown her hands in that gorgeous hair, she thought, making herself comfortable on the cushioned stool.

 

Despite her various experiences, Hermione had never bathed anyone before. She picked up a soft sponge and dunked it into the water, leaning close to the wizard. He seemed oblivious, lounging silently with closed eyes. Hermione quickly decided that the sensation of soap-slick skin rivaled oiled. The squish of bubbly water against flesh was more erotic than she would have guessed; she was enthralled with sensation as she directed, first, his arms, and then, his legs, to the surface for a gentle and leisurely scrub.

 

When Hermione would have asked what was next, Lucius sat up, sending a wave of water over the tub that soaked her expensive negligee. She ignored it, a little inebriated with the enigma of a wizard she was contracted to for the night. Besides, his bill could buy her two- hundred just like it. He swept his long hair over one shoulder, obviously indicating that Hermione wash his back.

 

For a moment, Hermione hesitated because he sat out of reach, the middle of the bath. She untied the wand and holster from her thigh and climbed gingerly into the hot, sudsy water behind him. She sighed in pleasure then retrieved her sponge. It was a losing battle to keep her body from clinging to his, so she gave up and used him to anchor herself from floating with her nightclothes. From her knees to her breasts, she was plastered to his back even as she attempted to slip the sponge over it.

 

“Use mint for my hair,” he said in a tight voice.

 

Hermione was careful not to make waves as she leaned back for the green potion. A quick whiff from the bottle confirmed it to be a dark, rich mint. She poured some into her hand and replaced it on the table. Working the potion into Lucius’ white-blond hair enthralled her. She massaged his scalp, weaving the frothy potion into his roots and through his tresses to spread it. Hermione lost track of time – it wasn’t like she had another appointment so what did time matter?

 

“Left for too long, it will turn my hair green,” Lucius said in a deep voice.

 

“Oh, sorry,” Hermione answered breathily. She snatched up the pitcher she assumed was set out for precisely this reason and filled it with water. She didn’t mean to spoil the mood by hurrying, but she didn’t want to give the man green hair. She rinsed out the potion quickly, relieved that his hair was still a brilliant blond.

 

Her heartfelt “thank, Merlin” earned her a quiet chuckle. Lucius turned and took one of her hands, drawing her to stand as he did. Water cascaded from them, sounding like rain. Drips pattered into the water from Hermione’s nightgown. She quivered as Lucius’ pale eyes moved slowly over her. A soaked garment left nothing to the imagination but Hermione felt more naked than she did without clothes. When she would have moved closer to him, he tensed and turned away, stepping carefully out of the bathtub. Hermione hurried to follow – she wanted the pleasure of drying him off by hand.

 

Hermione cheated, reaching her wand before Lucius reached the towels, and summoned them into her hands. If anyone could look amused and annoyed at the same time, it was Lucius Malfoy. He tolerated defeat in silence, waiting motionless as Hermione used fluffy towels to pat him dry. He didn’t react at all until she reached his still swollen cock.

 

“That’s enough,” he snapped.

 

 It was obvious that he wanted her. Why wouldn’t he allow her to give him pleasure? Was he a masochist? Was it her blood? Bah. She wasn’t the only call girl in the world. If blood were the problem, he wouldn’t allow her to set foot in his home. To hide her confusion, Hermione muttered a quick drying spell for her clothes.

 

“Will there be anything else?” she asked, disappointed to see him slip on a dressing robe.

 

“No. Thank you and good night, Hermione,” he said.

 

A House-elf appeared as quickly as Lucius disappeared.

 

“This way, Miss,” it squeaked.

 

~*~

 

Lucius’ next invitation arrived an excruciating three weeks later. Hermione fretted horribly over it. She hadn’t accepted a contract since her last visit to him – she hadn’t needed to for any financial reason and she was beginning to heal from the disaster that was her relationship with Ron. While Lucius hadn’t been degrading to her, she wanted more. She wanted a wizard to want her. Well, Hermione reasoned, serving Lucius had been rewarding monetarily—and certainly enjoyable, if not…climactic.

 

In fact, if she was so inclined, she was sure that she could arrange a physical encounter for afterwards. Hermione spent twenty disappointing minutes flipping through the large stack of inquiries. Not one wizard appealed to her.

 

Since when had she become so choosy?

 

Since she could afford to be or was there more to it?

 

Since she started wanting only one wizard?

 

That, seemingly, wanted nothing to do with her…

 

~*~

 

Things went much as they had the last time. Hermione was led to Lucius in his dark parlor and asked to read. He asked for a massage, rather than a bath.

 

“I’d rather not risk green hair tonight,” he said to which Hermione laughed.

 

After his comment, she felt lighter. She touched him more freely, using more teasing when she wouldn’t have dared before. His reaction was to mutter as goosebumps broke out over the offended spot. Lucius’ dark mumbles didn’t bother her. She felt that there was a tenuous…something between them.

 

Mentally, Hermione cursed herself. Giving Lucius a massage was the worst sort of torture. She’d be leaving practically shaking with need again.

 

When Lucius got her attention, Hermione was close to coming just from touching him. Her thighs were hot from straddling him and her nipples had contracted into hard points that needed the merest brush to send electric bliss through her.

 

“That was a wonderful massage,” Lucius offered as Hermione pulled on her cloak.

 

She gave him a wry grin, “I hope so—it lasted almost two hours.”

 

Lucius’ lips ticked as if he wanted to smile as he offered Hermione a heavy sack.

 

“Why don’t you want me?” she asked, shocking herself by blurting out the question.

 

“You think I don’t want you?” he replied, arching a brow.

 

“You don’t ask for sex.”

 

“I will not pay for an act of intimacy,” Lucius replied haughtily, swinging the pouch meaningfully from his fingers.

 

Hermione made a face. It was as if her mouth was acting against her will. “What if,” she began, “what if I didn’t charge you?”

 

“You _want_ me?”

 

Heat flooded Hermione’s cheeks but she answered simply, “Yes.”

 

She returned Lucius’ stare, waiting for him to explain why he wouldn’t have sex with her.

 

“I will not abide you being intimate with anyone else,” he said slowly.

 

Hermione blinked. “An exclusive contract?”

 

Lucius frowned, looking disgusted. He didn’t reply, otherwise.

 

“I see. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Hermione said, spinning on her heel and marching for the front door.

 

“Will you not consider it, then?” Lucius asked, stepping from a shadowed alcove before her.

 

Hermione halted in her tracks. How had he done that?

 

“Consider what?”

 

“Giving up your wretched life!”

 

Flummoxed by the wizard’s vehemence, Hermione stuttered, “Wha- why would I?”

 

Lucius moved close. “For something meaningful.”

 

“I made the mistake of a committed relationship before.”

 

“With a boy,” Lucius replied between his teeth.

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and she filled with something other than simple desire. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

 

She held her breath as Lucius lifted her knuckles to his lips. “If I were?” he breathed.

 

“I haven’t been able to stomach the idea of anyone else since my first contract with you,” she said truthfully.

 

“Is that so?” he replied, looking ridiculously smug.

 

Hermione shrugged helplessly. Lucius Malfoy had her under his spell and she was quite willing to remain there. However, she suspected that he wanted a woman to serve him not unlike her former boyfriend.

 

“You only want me because I make you feel good,” she said, stepping back to dilute his intoxicating scent.

 

“Why do you think I hired you in the first place?” he asked with an imperious lift of his chin.

 

Hermione frowned.

 

“It was the only way to get the attention of the most intelligent…” Lucius regained her hand and placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles.

 

“Most beguiling…” Lucius pulled her close.

 

“Most desirable witch I’ve known.”

 

Through the thin fabric of their robes, there was no denying that Lucius wanted her— _had_ wanted her, despite blood, despite everything.

 

“Good lord,” Hermione muttered.  

 

“And I’m quite happy to reciprocate,” Lucius whispered.

 

Hermione suddenly found herself against a wall. She had no idea how that had happened and stopped wondering as a wave of heat burst through her, lighting her with the desire stoked by massaging Lucius only minutes ago. A hand cupped her jaw and she suffered an exquisitely gentle kiss. Her body burned with longing and she shamelessly cradled him with her body; her arms went around his neck and one of her legs crooked around his.

 

When a hand stroked her intimately, brushing her knickers and through them, her damp folds, she gasped against Lucius’ mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut, silently imploring him for more. Chills broke out across her flesh as fingers teased her nether lips, gently caressing her through silky material. All she could do was clutch at him to keep from sliding to the floor.

 

“Are you mine?” Lucius hissed in Hermione’s ear, sending darts of pleasure straight to her brain.

 

“Yes, yes – yours, Lucius,” Hermione cried as his hand expertly taunted her.

 

Robes dropped, knickers were pulled hastily down and the singularly poignant sensation of skin pressed to skin enveloped Hermione. Lucius lifted her, pinning her between his body and the wall.

 

“And I am yours,” he whispered as his cock nudged into her.

 

Hermione began to come nearly immediately. Lucius rocked into her, thrusting shakily with impending climax. They chorused their pleasure together as they burst into bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Graphic content, not epilogue-compliant, mild angst, hints of Hermione/other characters (rather inevitable considering the prompt)  
> A/N: Written for luciannamalfoy for the 2009 hermione_smut exchange. Oodles of thanks to sweettiff_14 for beta-reading!  
> Summary: Prompt: Hermione is a poor student and as her studies make it impossible to work to supplement her living expenses, she seeks alternative employment as a high class call girl. She doesn't believe in love as Ron did something horrible to her, so she sees the call girl work as the most honest form of relationships, as there's no way to fall in love. However, her client has different ideas...


End file.
